


you rock my world

by lottielotsof, salrob (hanbrough)



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Journalists!Ricky and Nini, Rivals to Lovers, Texting, bet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lottielotsof/pseuds/lottielotsof, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanbrough/pseuds/salrob
Summary: The campus is abuzz with speculation—for the past few months, an unknown, unseen figure has been dressing up the statue of Benjamin Franklin that sits in the courtyard in various movie character costumes. Updates are diligently reported by the hardworking staff of the school paper, and when journalist Nini Salazar-Roberts is assigned to the case of cracking the prankster's identity, she swears she'll figure out who it is if it's the last thing she does—with or without Ricky Bowen's help.--or, as it's more affectionately known, 'statue au'
Relationships: Ricky Bowen & Nini Salazar-Roberts, Ricky Bowen/Nini Salazar-Roberts
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	you rock my world

**Author's Note:**

> this took almost two months to write but we got there in the end! lotterine hopes you enjoy our collaboration - with two times the authors comes two times the amount of rini content :D

_@TheUtahChronicle: Mysterious prankster strikes again! Today’s outfit - Troy Bolton’s Wildcats Jersey. Check out our exclusive photos below:_

—

Nini’s in the middle of her latest article, brows furrowed in concentration, when someone knocks on the door. “Got a minute?”

“Hmm?” She looks up distractedly to see EJ standing by the entrance. “Hey, what’s a word for when you’re really anxious?”

“Agitated?” EJ suggests, raising a brow.

“Yes!” Nini exclaims. She adds it to her sentence and spins her chair around, so that she’s fully facing the editor-in-chief. “What’s up?”

“Many things. The sky, a plane, global warming, the national debt,” EJ responds. “Walk with me?”

Nini stands up and follows EJ out of her cubicle. She’s a little confused why EJ seems so evasive, and if he’s asking her privately for a favor, it must be serious. 

“So,” EJ turns to her once they arrive at his office, “why can’t statues move?” Nini stares at him, silent. “Because they’re too stoned.” He lets out a snort for himself. 

“You can’t keep introducing subjects with puns.”

EJ dramatically waves her off, sitting down on his desk, “Let’s talk statues.”

She gives him a deadpanned look. “What was the costume this time?” 

An unknown figure, affectionately dubbed as Franklin Fashionista by the rest of the school, has been dressing the statue of Benjamin Franklin that sits in the middle of the university courtyard in various ridiculous items of clothing. From Cher Horowitz’s yellow plaid blazer and skirt in _Clueless_ , to Captain America’s SHIELD stealth suit, the statue gets a new outfit once every few days.

“Harry Potter,” EJ answers. “That’s not the point. We’ve been writing repetitive articles on outfits for two months now—it’s getting old.”

“Okay, and?” Nini’s still confused as to what this has to do with her, and frankly, she doesn’t really want to know. 

“ _And_ , Nini? Don’t you see the vision?” Her lack of enthusiasm seems to tell him she doesn’t. “Who cares about the _what_ , it’s all about the _who_. Who is behind this? Who is the prankster? Who is Franklin Fashionista? That’s what the people really want to know.”

Nini groans. “What does this have to do with me?”

“I want you to do it. Write the article.” EJ says simply. 

“EJ, I-”

“Look, I know you don’t really care about this stuff, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this. You’re one of the smartest people I know and you don’t stop until you find the truth. You know no one would do it justice like you. Please?”

Nini looks at his pleading face, perfected after their several years of friendship. She sighs—everything EJ’s said _is_ true, and she especially doesn’t like letting people down. “Fine.”

“Yay!” EJ cheers. “Oh, and by the way, someone else will be working on the article with you.”

“What?” Nini splutters. “You never said-”

“Say hi to your newest partner,” EJ announces happily, and Nini turns to see none other than Ricky Bowen, staring - no, smirking - right at her. 

—

She doesn’t hate him, per se. She doesn’t even dislike him. In fact, they say hi every time they see each other around campus, and she’d even call them acquaintances. 

But everyone on staff knows that Ricky Bowen the columnist is a menace. From goofing off at weekly pitch meetings, disrupting the room so much that The Chronicle’s sponsor, Professor Smith, has to intervene; to purposefully turning in articles late, filled to the brim with grammatical errors, he’s always getting into trouble.

But it’s being paired up with him on writing assignments that takes the cake. Case in point—he rushes in, five minutes late, while Nini’s already got her laptop out and a detective board set up in the middle of the room. 

“Sorry,” Ricky mumbles, before giving her a lopsided grin. “What did the statue order from a bar?” He doesn’t let her time to answer. “A stiff drink.”

“EJ?”

“Of course. He really has a way with words.” 

“Are you going to be late all the time?” Nini means it as a joke, but the words feel more serious than she intended. 

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault!” He holds up his hands. “Tell that to Professor Smith.”

“What did you do to piss her off this time?” Nini asks, not noticing the way Ricky suddenly stiffens. 

“Exist, apparently,” he mutters. “I won’t be late again, I promise.” Though Nini doesn’t fully believe him, she waves it away, itching to get started.

“So,” she begins when Ricky’s taken a seat and pulled out his laptop. “Here are all the outfits that Ben’s worn over the past two months. Here,” she points to a calendar pinned in the middle of the board, which has certain dates circled with a bold black sharpie, “are all the days the prankster has struck. If we can maybe find a commonality between the outfits, or figure out the prankster’s schedule, we can catch him in the act.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this,” Ricky comments, and Nini rolls her eyes.

“Is that surprising?” She asks, one eyebrow still arched.

Ricky shrugs. “No. I guess not.” He turns to her work as if searching for the next thing to say. “It’s a very good calendar, though. Good work!” He sounds weirdly proud, giving her a thumb’s up. 

“Anyways,” she continues, “what do you think? Do you have any other ideas? I was also thinking we could interview students, see if anyone knows anything about it.”

“I like it,” Ricky says. “But what if I told you I had a way to contact Franklin Fashionista?”

Nini narrows her eyes. “You know who the prankster is?”

“I don’t know _them_ per say,” Ricky admits. “But I may or may not have their number.”

“What?” Nini’s incredulous. “How did you get it? How do you know it’s legit? How-”

“Hey,” Ricky interrupts, putting his hands up. “I know as much as you. Maybe you should send a text and see if it’s really them.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled phone number on it, passing it to her.

Nini stares at the paper for longer than she should, feeling like she’s missing something. Finally, she sighs. “Fine. I’ll message them later tonight.”

“Cool,” Ricky grins, looking way too pleased with himself, and yeah, Nini’s definitely getting to the bottom of this.

—

**nini:** are you franklin fashionista?

**franklin fashionista:** wow 

**franklin fashionista:** straight to the point 

**nini:** well, are you?

**franklin fashionista:** i thought you would make a ‘that’s the only straight thing about me’ joke

 **franklin fashionista:** it was right there how did you pass it up

**nini:** how do you know me?

**franklin fashionista:** i know a lot of things

**nini:** are you going to answer any of my questions?

**franklin fashionista:** are you going to ask nicely?

**nini:** hi.

 **nini:** i’m nini.

**franklin fashionista:** hi :D

**nini:** so you know who i am?

**franklin fashionista:** i do

 **franklin fashionista:** nini salazar-roberts, renowned college newspaper journalist, off to find the identity of the mysterious and handsome prankster 

**nini:** handsome huh

 **nini:** is there any proof to that

**franklin fashionista:** all the people agree, trust me

**nini:** maybe you should send a picture so i can be the judge of that

**franklin fashionista:** is that how you plan to trick me into revealing my identity

 **franklin fashionista:** frankly i’m unimpressed

**nini:** i’m sorry you feel this way

 **nini:** don’t worry, i’ll make it up to you by unmasking you to the entire world soon

**franklin fashionista:** sure 

**franklin fashionista:** “entire world” as if it wasn’t just a couple hundred people on campus who cared

**nini:** how do i know i’m even talking to the real fashionista right now

**franklin fashionista:** you don’t trust me?

 **franklin fashionista:** i’m wounded

**nini:** i tend to not trust strangers

 **nini:** must be the years of drilling into my young mind that everyone on the internet wanted to kidnap and murder me

**franklin fashionista:** i get it

 **franklin fashionista:** a woman that fact checks her sources

 **franklin fashionista:** i have to respect it

**nini:** i’m-

 **nini:** everyone should fact check their sources what do you mean

**franklin fashionista:** by tomorrow morning the statue will be dressed as luke skywalker

 **franklin fashionista:** that’s how you’ll know it’s really me

__

  
  


It’s 4 AM, and Nini is ready to head out. 

“Are you sure about this?” Kourtney asks doubtfully, surveying her from the front door of their apartment.

“Positive.” Without looking up, Nini makes the final double knot on her boot, and stands up.

“But you don’t even know if it’s the actual Fashionista,” Kourtney points out dubiously. “Are you really going to sacrifice your sleep based on some rando’s tip?”

“I follow every lead,” Nini replies. “It’s my reporter instinct, remember?” And she cannot wait to rub her victory in the prankster’s face, especially after using their own tip against them.

“Yeah—for issues that matter,” Kourtney rolls her eyes. “Not for finding out if a statue is dressed as a character of a thirty year old movie or not today.”

“EJ wants me to do this,” Nini sighs, shouldering herself into her jacket. “So I’m doing it.”

“You’re not even gonna ask Ricky to tag along?” Kourtney asks. “It’s a two-person assignment, Neens.”

“Do you think Ricky would willingly wake up at 4 in the morning just to look for the prankster?” Nini dismisses Kourtney’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “Besides, he’d just hold me back. It’ll be fine—I’ll verify that the number is Franklin Fashionista’s _and_ catch them in the process.” She can already see her smug face, her elated expression, and she doesn’t know what the prankster looks like, but she imagines them defeated, their cheeky smirk wiped off.

“Alright,” Kourtney says, shrugging. “Good luck. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t get murdered, please.”

And so Nini goes out the door, quietly creeping down the stairs as to not wake any of her floormates up. It’s dark and chilly when she steps outside, but luckily, her apartment is only a five minute walk away from campus, so it shouldn’t be too bad. She’s also got her trusty can of pepper spray, in case some creep wants to come for her.

As she nears the courtyard entrance, she’s suddenly struck with a rush of nervousness. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Nini once again reads through the text conversation she’d stared at a hundred times prior.

“ _by tomorrow morning_ ,” the text had read. There was no indication as to when specifically the prankster would be changing the statue’s outfit, and she could only hope that her instincts were correct. 

When Nini arrives, the courtyard is dead silent, aside from the rustling of the wind, and the chirping of birds. She cautiously makes her way down the path towards Benjamin Franklin, treading on the pavement as lightly as she can. 

She’s a few hundred feet away when she hears something out of the ordinary—someone quietly cursing, followed by a frustrated sigh. She stops in her tracks, amazed at her luck. The prankster was probably still working on the statue, so she’d be able to reveal his identity and get the article turned in to EJ earlier than she’d thought. She’s already tasting victory on her tongue and she can’t help grinning.

As quietly as she can, she tiptoes towards the statue. Her heartbeat roars in her ears in anticipation, and her breath hitches thinking about how close she is to the culprit.

But of course, with her luck, something has to go wrong. Nini’s ready to turn her flashlight on, exposing the prankster for who they are, when the edge of her boot cracks on a stray branch, snapping it cleanly in half. The noise of the branch breaking disrupts the silence, and she knows the prankster had heard it, too.

“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath. With her presence revealed, she knows she has just seconds to spare before her night’s work goes to waste. Breaking into a run, Nini turns on her flashlight to see the back of an unknown figure, sprinting faster than she can keep up. A vaguely familiar-sounding laugh is the last thing she hears, before she gives up and acknowledges defeat. 

Sighing, Nini makes her way back to the statue—if anything, she can take a look at the new outfit before everybody else. Turning up the brightness setting on her flashlight, she points it upward.

Benjamin Franklin stares back at her, donning a white robe and holding a green lightsaber in hand.

__

  
  


**nini:** so it is you

**franklin fashionista:** what are you doing up at 4 am

**nini:** you know what i was doing

**franklin fashionista:** aw

 **franklin fashionista:** were you waiting for me?

 **franklin fashionista:** i’m sorry

 **franklin fashionista:** i’m afraid you were kind of late

 **franklin fashionista:** and noisy

**nini:** i won’t make that mistake twice

**franklin fashionista:** thanks for the warning

 **franklin fashionista:** so it IS really me

 **franklin fashionista:** as i tried telling you again and again

 **franklin fashionista:** how do you feel 

**nini:** why did you give me your number

**franklin fashionista:** why not

**nini:** do you want me to catch you 

**franklin fashionista:** i don’t believe you will

**nini:** oh

 **nini:** is that a challenge

**franklin fashionista:** nah

 **franklin fashionista:** you’d have to have a chance for it to be a challenge

**nini:** you know i didn’t particularly want to do this before 

**nini:** but now

 **nini:** you bet your ass i will find out who you are

**franklin fashionista:** bet huh?

 **franklin fashionista:** how about this 

**franklin fashionista:** if by the end of the semester you’ve somehow, miraculously found me out, you win

 **franklin fashionista:** if not, i was right all along, and you never stood a chance

**nini:** you best believe i’ll completely destroy you 

**nini:** what are the stakes

**franklin fashionista:** if i win, you have to publish an article about the biggest failure of your career: your complete inability to find out who franklin fashionista was

**nini:** and if i win, you have to dress up in an outfit of my choice and stand beside the statue all day

**franklin fashionista:** deal

**nini:** you’re going down frankie

**frankie fashionista:** you wish nicole

**_nini_ ** _set_ **_franklin fashionista_ '** _s name as_ ** _frankie fashionista_ **

__

  
  


This time, Nini’s the one who stumbles into their brainstorm meeting late, yawning and clutching a cup of coffee—her third one of the day.

“You okay?” Ricky raises an eyebrow in concern. “You look like you’ve seen death.”

“Sure feels like it,” Nini grumbles, taking her laptop out of her bag and placing it on the table with more force than necessary. She’s still fuming from her text conversation with Franklin Fashionista, his insufferable arrogance, his cocky attitude and his challenging tone echoing in her head. Did he really think she wasn’t going to catch him? Oh, she’ll make him eat his words.

“Did my number….work out?” Ricky asks. He looks hesitant, as if she’s going to tell him it didn’t.

“Yeah,” Nini responds. “Got to see Luke Skywalker up close and personal before it hit the front page of The Chronicle.”

“You tried to catch him in the act?” Ricky asks. “Did you see his face, or anything?”

“Nope,” Nini says dejectedly. “I could see that it was a man, but that’s all. I just barely missed him.” 

“Oh,” Ricky says, and for some reason, he sounds oddly smug. “That sucks.”

Nini squints at him suspiciously. “Anyways,” she says, “we can’t just wait around for the prankster to bait us again. We need to think ahead of the curve, you know?”

“Right,” Ricky says agreeably. “What do you have in mind?”

“I think we should interview people,” Nini says. “There must be someone who saw something, right? The statue is in the middle of campus, where anyone can see.”

“I suppose,” Ricky shrugs, not sounding particularly interested. “Wouldn’t people have already said something, though?”

Nini smirks, “Ah ha.” She says in gotcha tone. Picking a binder out of her bag, she drops it on the desk with a resonating thump. “That’s where you’d be wrong, Bowen.” Going to the green divider, Nini opens the book. “People have been sharing their prankster sightings for weeks now. There’s a forum on the school’s website with only theories and rumors. I’ve gone through the entirety of it and found a few somewhat credible stories.” She unclips a piece of paper and gives it to him. “I have their names and numbers, and I’ve already arranged meetings with most of the people on the list today.”

Ricky seems shocked, looking at the paper mouth wide. “I-” He starts, the word trailing. “When did you have time to do this?”

“I’ve been up since 4 am.” Her eye twitches. 

That’s how they end up in the courtyard, under a maple tree, which Nini had designated as the official meeting spot. She watches as a group of friends starts up a game of volleyball, the first server somehow spiking the ball right into Ben Franklin’s face. 

“Which costume was he putting on the statue when you saw him?” Nini starts her questioning when the fourth interviewee arrives, her eyes on her notepad, meticulously taking notes.

“I believe it was Wednesday Addams. I remember the black pigtails wig and the-”

Ricky cuts in. “And what was the prankster wearing?” He’s resting his head on his fist and he looks exaggeratedly involved. 

“Um…” The tall blonde starts, looking up as she tries to remember. “I think-”

“And on a scale of one to ten, how good did it look on him?”

“Huh?”

Nini elbows Ricky in the stomach, sending him a threatening glare, before smiling at the girl. “Ignore my partner. He’s an idiot.”

“Me?” He gasps. “After I ask the hard hitting questions no one else dares to ask?”

“He was wearing a grey hoodie, I think. And I’d say a five.”

“A five?” Ricky cries out in offense, receiving another jab from Nini.

“Did you manage to see his face? Even just a glimpse?”

“No. I was coming back from an all night studying session and I had a brutal physics exam in two hours. My care for the prankster and his identity was at an all time low.”

“You didn’t see anything else? At all?” Nini wonders, hopeful. The blonde shakes her head apologetically. 

“What about his aura?” Ricky presses. “What color do you think it is?”

“Don’t,” Nini exclaims, “Answer that. Thank you for your help.” The blonde nods and leaves. Nini whips her head around, an angry stare in her eyes. “Would you stop asking weird questions? You’re making us look unprofessional.”

“Since when is asking what kind of ice cream someone is a weird question? Buzzfeed does it all the time.” Ricky adds, “Plus, it’s not like they had any relevant information.” The words seem to strike a chord in Nini.

“I can’t believe no one ever saw him.” She groans. “Are there really no abnormally curious people out there anymore?” She thinks about the bet, about Franklin Fashionista affirming it was impossible to catch him, and she’s starting to fear that it might be true. 

“Pick your head up, queen, your crown is falling.”

She gives him a deadpan look. “The rumors are true. I hate you.”

Before Ricky can answer, the next person on the list stands in front of them. Without even an introduction, he drops a bombshell. “I know who the prankster is.”

“What? Who?” Nini asks eagerly.

“Dean Mazzara.” She deflates at the answer.

“I don’t-”

“No, hear me out, it makes sense. No one would ever suspect him. And from his desk he has a constant view on the statue. He can always know when the campus is empty and it’s safe for him to act.”

“I’m not sure-”

“We’ve been talking about it with my buddies for days now. It’s all coming together. I swear there’s more to this. We just have to figure out _why_ he does it, and then we _got him_.”

“I see your vision,” Ricky looks down at the list of names, “Johnathan Andrews. I totally agree.”

“I knew you guys would understand.”

“Of course. Now, just tell me this, do you think he believes cereal is a soup or-”

“I think that’s quite enough,” Nini cuts in, a crisp smile on her lips. “Thank you for sharing your theory.” She says it nicely, but the tone is still dismissive, and the student ends up leaving begrudgingly. She turns to Ricky and narrows her eyes at him. “Cereal is not soup.”

“Now, see, emotionally I agree. But _legally_ , it’s definitely a soup.”

Nini just cannot believe her luck. How has no one ever seen the prankster’s face? She knows she hasn’t been looking for that long, but it already feels pointless. It feels like she’s chasing a ghost or an idea, like a crazy woman running after no one. Is she just a Johnathan Andrews, cursed to try and find Franklin Fashionista until she gets so desperate and starts wildly accusing anyone? Will she start believing the crazy conspiracy, start suspecting the dean, join Andrews and his crew in figuring out the missing piece and- Wait.

“He does have a point, though.”

“He does?” Ricky cries in disbelief, looking at her as if she had grown a second head.

“Yes.” Nini reaffirms. “Why in the hell does the prankster prank?”

Ricky doesn’t respond immediately, and Nini looks up to see an unusually stony look on his face. “Ricky?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “That’s a point.”

Nini’s still confused about his sudden mood change, but lets it go. “Well,” she says, “I guess I’ll go back and type our notes up.” She’s already thinking of her next texts with Franklin Fashionista and where to go with her line of questioning.

Ricky nods. “Sure.”

By the time they leave, the courtyard is mostly empty for the day. Nini glances at the statue in his ridiculous-looking robe, and then back at Ricky, who still has a look she can’t fully decipher on his face. 

“Hey,” she says when they’ve returned to the student center, “this was actually kind of fun. Even if your questions were completely useless.”

Ricky smiles back at her, and something flutters in her chest.

__

  
  


**nini:** why do you do it

**frankie fashionista:** you really love starting up conversations with random questions

 **frankie fashionista:** when did hello how are you go out of style

**nini:** a cold november day of 1983. someone met up with their friends, smiling at them as they approached, cheerily telling them ‘hello, how are you’. suddenly, it wasn’t cool anymore. an awkward silence reigned between all of them. the world has not been the same since. one can assume that’s when everything started to go wrong 

**frankie fashionista:** and i thought everything started to go wrong when avril lavigne died and was replaced with her doppelgänger 

**nini:** no

 **nini:** only a regular tragedy, no special connotations to that one

 **nini:** so

 **nini:** why do you do it

**frankie fashionista:** do what

**nini:** what do you think

 **nini:** prank the statue

**frankie fashionista:** oh

 **frankie fashionista:** that

 **frankie fashionista:** idk. it’s fun

**nini:** is that a sincere answer

**frankie fashionista:** i don’t know is it

**nini:** i’ll just have to figure out why you really do it myself then

**frankie fashionista:** that’s a lot of things you have to uncover now

 **frankie fashionista:** maybe you should stop adding so much secrets to your plate

 **frankie fashionista:** especially when you can’t even figure out the first

**nini:** yeah keep adding oil to my “i need to figure out who franklin fashionista is to prove i’m right” fire

 **nini:** that will only fuel me more

**frankie fashionista:** and you clearly need all the fuel you can get for this one

**nini:** you’re not as mysterious as you think you are

**frankie fashionista:** i’ve been defacing a public property for months now and no one has ever seen me yet

 **frankie fashionista:** i think i’m even more mysterious than i think i am

 **frankie fashionista:** i feel bad for you, you know

**nini:** don’t <3

**frankie fashionista:** you know what

 **frankie fashionista:** fine

 **frankie fashionista:** i’ll make you a deal

**nini:** what deal

**frankie fashionista:** if you tell me something about yourself, i’ll tell you something about myself

**nini:** …

 **nini:** alright

 **nini:** fine

**frankie fashionista:** i’m waiting

**nini:** i hate dolphins

**frankie fashionista:** you-

 **frankie fashionista:** what

**nini:** i hate dolphins

 **nini:** they’re way too smart and their smiles are creepy

 **nini:** they’re evil masterminds plotting to take over the world and are currently waiting for seaworld and other dolphin propaganda to lower our guard and get us to trust them to act out

 **nini:** plus they are serial rapists

 **nini:** i hate them with all my heart

**frankie fashionista:** i didn’t know people could feel so strongly about an animal

**nini:** i meant every word i said

 **nini:** your turn

**frankie fashionista:** my favorite color is blue

**nini:** that’s a weakass fact

 **nini:** tell me something else

**frankie fashionista:** you can tell a lot about a person from their favorite color

 **frankie fashionista:** ever heard of color theory?

 **frankie fashionista:** didn’t think so

**nini:** i hate you

**frankie fashionista:** i love it when you talk dirty to me

 **frankie fashionista:** nini?

 **frankie fashionista:** nini

 **frankie fashionista:** kneeknee

 **frankie fashionista:** are you ignoring my messages

 **frankie fashionista:** wow the lack of maturity and professionalism in this chat is unbelievable

__

  
  


“So what’s next on your to-do list, princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” The complaint comes out garbled as Nini chews on a pen, staring at her notepad in intense concentration. 

Ricky smirks. “What now?”

“Can’t you come up with some ideas of your own?” Nini doesn’t mean to, but her words come out harsher than intended. A hurt look flashes in Ricky’s eyes, but it’s gone before she can ponder on it.

“Sorry,” Nini apologizes, and Ricky shakes his head.

“Nah, you make a fair point. I was thinking we should study the clothes, see if we know anyone who owns this many costumes.”

She looks up, startled at his insight. “I….can’t believe you actually thought of a good idea.”

“Hey!” Ricky exclaims in mock offense. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

“Is there a costume store nearby?” Nini ignores his joke; she’s already got Google Maps up and running, and squints for a possible match.

“A costume store?” Ricky’s voice sounds incredulous. “You think that’s where the prankster’s getting their outfits?”

“Well, yeah,” Nini shrugs. “What kind of loser just has movie characters outfits laying around their apartment?”

“Oh,” Ricky says, but it sounds hesitant. “Yeah, what a loser.”

“Here!” Nini points to a Party City just a five minute walk away from campus, nestled between a coffeeshop and a bookstore. “Let’s go.”

They’re the only people over the age of 15 (who aren’t parents) in the store, and even Nini has to admit it feels a little ridiculous looking at costumes when their fellow shoppers are mostly overly rambunctious children. But she’s gotten this far, and she isn’t backing down now.

“This robe could totally be the same one the statue’s wearing right now,” she remarks as they spot a Luke Skywalker getup. It’s a size XL, perfect for the statue’s height and width as well. 

“I don’t think so.” Ricky’s nose scrunches up as he thinks, and Nini tries (and fails) to not find it endearing. “If you look here, you can see that the belt for this one is black, while the statue’s was brown.”

“Wow,” Nini looks at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew so much about costuming.”

“I may or may not be something of a movie character aficionado myself,” Ricky shrugs. 

“Really.” Nini’s voice is laced with doubt. 

Ricky smiles wryly. “I’m like Shrek—I have layers.”

“Speaking of,” Nini says, pointing at a costume that might as well be a large sack. There’s a green ogre mask hanging right above it, marked as a 2 for 1 deal. “Who would willingly want to wear _that_ on Halloween?”

“Me,” Ricky says faux confidently, taking the mask off its hook and strapping it onto his face. He turns to her. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who gets their candies stolen on Halloween and _deserves_ it,” Nini teases. She can’t help but take her phone out, snapping a picture to laugh at later.

The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion—shockingly, Ricky manages to come up with an explanation as to why none of the costumes in the store match those worn by the statue. Though they don’t end up finding anything of use for the article, Nini’s now got a new photo album on her phone exclusively for the ridiculous costumes she and Ricky had tried on; she even ends up buying a toy lightsaber of her own. 

“So,” Ricky says, as they exit the store. He points to the coffee shop next door. “Coffee?”

Nini really should say no, make an excuse as to how she should get going, but part of her finds that she really likes spending time with Ricky. (And doesn’t that thought slightly terrify her.) She shrugs, in an attempt to look casual. “Sure.”

Ricky snags them a two-person table of their own, and Nini watches as he goes up to the counter to place their order. He comes back with two cups of coffee, sugar and milk drowning them.

“So, why did you join The Chronicle?” Ricky asks as soon as he sits down, throwing her off slightly. She had half-expected their conversations to remain strictly prankster focused.

Still, Nini takes a sip of her drink, and says, “I always loved writing, I guess. Songs and stories and now articles. It just made sense.” She gives him a grin, “What about you? You don’t seem particularly invested in journalism, no offense.” She’s right. In all of her time on staff, she’d never seen Ricky be fully committed, joking around and taking things lightly instead of the typical full dedication seen by the staff. Sometimes, it was kind of annoying, but Ricky had enough charm and personality to make everyone look past it. 

“My mom used to be on this very paper back in the olden days. It made her happy to see me join. Pretty much the only thing I do that makes her happy these days, anyway.” Ricky says the last part with strain, and although Nini knows there’s more to it, she doesn’t push. 

She looks around the cafe full of strangers, her cup still raised in her head, and turns back to Ricky with a conspiratorial look, leaning in to speak. “Long Skirt Girl in the corner is vegan and collects bugs. She used to live in the countryside and didn’t have electricity until she was fourteen. She thinks microwaves will give everyone cancer and gets a weird sense of superiority from having no phone. She’s living in the city now because she’s secretly addicted to running water and cars, but she says it’s because her message of veganism and love will reach more people here. She says things like ‘I don’t mind if you’re racist as long as you treat animals well.’”

“No, no. You have it all wrong,” Ricky shakes his head. “She’s a self proclaimed hippie who knows nothing about the culture except weed and bell-bottoms pants. She says things like ‘I was born in the wrong generation’ while looking at her posters of white 70s artists. She has a record player made in 2018. Her boyfriend is racist but she doesn’t call him out because ‘peace and love’.”

Nini looks behind her, where a man and a woman are sharing a blueberry muffin. “What about them?”

“Exes, for sure. They said they were having coffee together to get closure and become friends again but they’re leaving together for his house in twenty minutes. They’re gonna keep hooking up until they officially get back together and they forget all about how toxic their relationship was.”

“What,” she cries, “No way. Boy here is pining for Girl and she’s totally oblivious.” Ricky shakes his head humorously. “He’s the one that bought the muffin and she said she wasn’t hungry but he’s sharing with her anyway. He keeps giving her heart eyes and she’ll call him buddy when they say goodbye.”

“Okay, what about Comically Tiny Backpack Girl who just came in?”

They keep finding crazier and wilder backstories for strangers, looking away rapidly when someone spots them, bursting out laughing as they try to act inconspicuous. Ricky shouts ridiculous things in the likes of ‘and _who_ was pregnant?!’ and ‘I cannot believe you told him about your secret twin sister already’ to throw people off their scent.

“I had a good time today,” she admits, as they throw their cups away and head out the door. The sun’s just beginning to set, and Ricky’s face is awash with the gentle purples and pinks of the sky. She likes hanging out with Ricky, and Franklin Fashionista has gotten almost tolerable (actually, that’s a lie—at most, he’s fun and makes her laugh), and Nini finally thinks this article might not be the worst after all.

“Yeah.” He smiles at her. “Me too. I’ll see you later, Nini.” 

She watches him walk away, before turning towards the direction of her apartment with a strange feeling in her stomach.

—

  
  


[5:02 AM]

 **frankie fashionista:** top of the morning to you nini salrob

[8:34 AM]

 **nini:** why did you text me at five in the morning

**frankie fashionista:** are you really asking me?

 **frankie fashionista:** i thought you were a smart and ruthless journalist

 **frankie fashionista:** guess your deducting skills aren’t as sharp as you think

**nini:** what costume is it

**frankie fashionista:** why would i tell you

 **frankie fashionista:** all the fun is in seeing it live 

**nini:** my guess is indiana jones

**frankie fashionista:** nope

 **frankie fashionista:** you’re gonna have to get out of bed and find out

 **frankie fashionista:** tell me something about yourself

**nini:** i’m not telling you anything if you don’t promise to provide me with useful facts instead of whatever bullshit ‘my favorite color is blue’ or ‘i think turtles are better than tortoises’ or ‘i wish my tongue was blue like giraffes’ was

**frankie fashionista:** rude 

**frankie fashionista:** and here i thought you would appreciate a deeper look into my psyche

**nini:** i’m not hearing promises

**frankie fashionista:** fine

 **frankie fashionista:** i promise

**nini:** i like songwriting

 **nini:** i guess one could say it’s my passion

**frankie fashionista:** that’s really cool

 **frankie fashionista:** have you always written songs

**nini:** for as long as i could hold a pen and form thoughts

**frankie fashionista:** childhood songs are underrated bops

 **frankie fashionista:** when i was young i wrote a five minutes long song about the seasons and i forced my parents to sit down and Listen

 **frankie fashionista:** they would start clapping every minute thinking it was over.. and then i’d just turn a page and start singing again

**nini:** you write songs too?

**frankie fashionista:** not often

 **frankie fashionista:** none as good as the seasons one

 **frankie fashionista:** eight years old me was a lyricist genius

**nini:** lmao yes when i was six i wrote a song about fruits

 **nini:** i would say why each fruits was my favorite

 **nini:** cherry was because girls smell like that so overall a very gay song

**frankie fashionista:** did six years old you think all girls smelled like cherries or was it just for the song

**nini:** i don’t know?

 **nini:** i think i liked a girl that smelled like cherries and my dumb monkey brain was just <girls that smell like cherries3

 **nini:** or maybe because of katy perry’s i kissed a girl, a gay awakening anthem for young girls everywhere

**frankie fashionista:** my gay awakening was when i was twelve and saw my friend’s older brother shirtless in the pool and i went oh?

 **frankie fashionista:** i passed the entire summer at their house to see him but then i got a girlfriend for like two weeks so i assumed i was straight for another good two years 

**frankie fashionista:** i was like well one cannot possibly like more than one gender that’s just too many

**nini:** i don’t think i even had a gay awakening to be honest

 **nini:** my moms are lesbians so i just assumed everyone liked girls 

**nini:** you can imagine my shock when i found out some people are straight

**frankie fashionista:** embarrassing for them

**nini:** isn’t?

**frankie fashionista:** bi or pan?

**nini:** pan

**frankie fashionista:** bi

**nini:** pan and bi solidarity!

**frankie fashionista:** our rights!

**nini:** what’s your useful fact

**frankie fashionista:** i’m not in stem

**nini:** i’m not surprised 

**frankie fashionista:** is it the lack of misogyny 

**nini:** it’s your general aura

**frankie fashionista:** i don’t know if it’s a compliment or not

**nini:** i love to keep you guessing

 **nini:** i have class in an hour but i’ll make sure to check it out

 **nini:** hope i’m not disappointed

**frankie fashionista:** leave me your constructive criticisms i’m always willing to get better

**nini:** constructive criticism: sign your piece next time, the world should remember your name!

**frankie fashionista:** you’re a comedian

**nini:** i know

—

When Nini arrives in front of Benjamin Franklin, a coffee in her hand, she almost can’t believe her eyes. She gapes at the statue for a second, before reaching for her phone, fingers instinctively typing in a number that’s quickly becoming all too familiar to her.

“Ricky!” she hisses, as soon as he picks up. “Did you see the new outfit?”

“No?” He sounds confused. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Nini tells him. “Meet me at the courtyard in five.” And without further explanation, she hangs up.

While she waits for Ricky, she takes the time to actually get a good look at the statue’s Shrek costume. The brown burlap pants look identical to the ones they’d seen at Party City, but she can’t be sure. Tentatively, she reaches out to touch it, feeling the scratchy material in her palm.

At the sound of footsteps behind her, Nini turns around. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“It probably is,” Ricky shrugs. “Unless the prankster is stalking us?”

Nini thinks it over. “I don’t think I saw anyone following us the other day,” she says finally. “But you can’t deny that this is fishy.”

“I guess so.” Ricky shrugs again.

“You seemed to know a lot about the statue’s outfits last time,” Nini remembers. “Can you confirm or deny that this costume came from Party City?”

“Sure.” Ricky barely takes a second to look at the statue again before shaking his head, pointing upwards. “Nope—that vest has buttons, and the Party City version didn’t.”

“Wow,” Nini remarks. “I still can’t believe that you’re so good at this.”

“Pretty much the only thing I’m good at these days.” Ricky’s voice has an unusual edge to it, and when Nini looks at him—really looks at him— she can tell something’s wrong: There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he’s awkwardly fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie. Her brows furrow. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Ricky blinks, lost in thought. As if he’d forgotten that she was there, he startles, gaze piercing right through her. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Nini asks doubtfully. “You can tell me the truth.”

Ricky sighs wearily; he seems to realize that Nini won’t back down. “I got into an argument with my mom earlier,” he explains. “She wants me to live on-campus on the Row with her next year, even though Big Red, EJ and I already signed the lease for our new apartment. Says she wants me close for senior year, even though she didn’t seem to want me close when I actually needed her.”

Nini’s confused. “The Row? That’s faculty-only housing.” Then, it clicks. “Wait. Does that—does that mean your mom works here?”

“Yes.” Ricky looks resigned. 

“Do I know her?” Nini asks.

Ricky nods. “I’ll give you a hint—you see her at least once a week.”

Nini gapes as the pieces fall into place. “Professor Smith?”

“Yeah.” In retrospect, she thinks, it should’ve been obvious: Ricky did mention his mother wanting him to join staff, and The Chronicle sponsor had always been particularly tough on him. But it’s still jarring to hear it admitted out loud, and Nini shakes her head in disbelief.

“Wait,” Another thought comes to her. “What about your last name?”

“What about it?” Ricky laughs bitterly. “She decided she’d rather be a Smith when she met Todd.”

“Oh.” For once, her words fail her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ricky shrugs tersely. “So now you know my tragic backstory, I guess.”

“Yeah. You’ve lost all your dark and mysterious energy. You’re just a regular guy now.” 

“Yes, dark and mysterious, that’s how everyone always describes me.”

Nini chuckles a little, but Ricky still seems down and her heart can’t help but pinch a little. She bites her lip before exclaiming, “Did you know there’s a free-for-all art studio that just opened in the student center?” 

He frowns, confused at her random subject change. “No?”

“Well,” she asks, “do you want to go paint out your feelings?” 

Ricky grins at her, his first since the conversation had started, and she becomes warm all over. She shouldn’t be this proud and happy to have made him smile, but she is, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

With an hour before her morning class, she chugs her coffee and puts on one of those oversized and used collared shirts. Ricky doesn’t bother, claiming he’s too cool for protection (though he comes to regret it when he spills some blue paint in the middle of his jacket.) There aren’t a lot of students around, and those who are are quietly whispering to each other. The room feels silent and relaxing.

Ricky immediately starts with big strokes of red on his canvas, making free movements with his paintbrush, his tongue out in concentration, and Nini stares at him in amusement. “That’s some bold choices you’re making there.” 

He grins up at her. “Well. I’m supposed to be painting out my feelings, aren’t I?”

“And you’re angry, I suppose?”

“Fuming.”

Nini is a bit more reserved compared to Ricky flailing his arms around with different colors, picking a piece of paper and a trusty pencil instead. She starts off with eyes, completely conjured up from her mind, and only breaks her concentration when she looks up at the progression of whatever Ricky’s doing on his side. His painting gets more colorful and eclectic every time she glances at it, and she can’t help but question him about his choices, for which he is more than happy to invent crazy reasonings behind them (“See, this tiny speck of green there? It represents the peas she forced me to eat all of my childhood. I think this is where our relationship truly lost its spark.”) 

In fact, she stares at him so much she starts to draw him, not even conscious of it until she’s at his telltale jaw and eyelashes. Nini looks down at her paper in surprise, and then her own hand like it has a mind of his own. But it is a pretty drawing, so she shrugs and continues on.

When they finally finish an hour later, they sign the corners of their pieces. Ricky’s painting looks like a vomit of colors and shapes, more browns than was surely intended, but he seems proud of his masterpiece. He bends down a little to see Nini’s drawing, and she blushes with embarrassment.

“I love my fans,” he teases. “Here, let me sign it for you.” On the back of the paper, he signs _Ricky Bowen_ in his weird handwriting (the one she used to take hours to decipher, but can now read so easily) and adds ‘for my #1 fan, keep living the dream Nini’. She rolls her eyes, but laughs anyway. 

Nini is about to take it back, put it into her bag before class, when suddenly Ricky is pulling it away from her, holding it to his chest like it’s a prized treasure. “I want it,” he declares. “No one has ever drawn me before. I need tangible proof for all the times I will be bragging about it.”

“You don’t have to brag about it, Ricky.”

Ricky says smugly, “Oh, I _will_.”

So, Nini gifts him her drawing and in return, Ricky gifts her his painting. It’s not very pretty, but she puts it in her room as soon as she comes back from her morning class (which she, unsurprisingly, ends up being late to) and every time she looks at it, she smiles.

__

  
  


**nini:** i’ve never been in love

**frankie fashionista:** oh

 **frankie fashionista:** um 

**frankie fashionista:** …..do you want to talk about it?

**nini:** it’s my fun fact about myself 

**nini:** i’ve never been in love

 **nini:** which kind of sucks, i guess, because i love love so much

 **nini:** but whatever

 **nini:** your turn

**frankie fashionista:** love is overrated anyway

**nini:** oh so you’re one of Those people

**frankie fashionista:** no

 **frankie fashionista:** it’s just

 **frankie fashionista:** it doesn’t really feel worth it sometimes

**nini:** you’ve been in love before?

**frankie fashionista:** yes

**nini:** how did it feel like?

**frankie fashionista:** it feels...

 **frankie fashionista:** it feels like a rush everytime you see them and warm everytime they smile

 **frankie fashionista:** it feels like completion everytime you’re with them, feels like coming home, feels like their souls know yours

 **frankie fashionista:** it feels blurry and hyperclear at the same time, like the edges of the world fade into nothing and all you can focus on is them

 **frankie fashionista:** and it feels nothing like that at the same time because there’s not really any words that could explain it

 **frankie fashionista:** mostly, it feels scary

**nini:** scary?

 **nini:** why would you be scared?

**frankie fashionista:** why wouldn’t you be?

**nini:** because it’s beautiful

 **nini:** love is the loveliest thing in the whole world

 **nini:** don’t you think so? how can you reread how you described love and not think it’s the prettiest feeling?

**frankie fashionista:** pretty things can hurt too

 **frankie fashionista:** i sound like a 2013 tumblr post right now

**nini:** isn’t that what makes it better?

 **nini:** when it hurts and you’re painfully aware that you’re feeling something right now

 **nini:** that you exist and you’re here and you love someone and maybe they won’t love you back, but if they did, it would be the most magical thing in the world

 **nini:** i wish i loved someone

 **nini:** even if they didn’t love me back

 **nini:** i want to feel 

**frankie fashionista:** how can you be okay with someone breaking your heart?

**nini:** i don’t know

 **nini:** i guess it would mean i had one in the first place

 **nini:** boy who sounds like a 2013 tumblr post now

 **nini:** i like your shoelaces

**frankie fashionista:** nini no!

 **frankie fashionista:** why would you bring up this godforsaken memory

**nini:** i guess you Didn’t get them from the president then

**frankie fashionista:** i hate you

**nini:** sure

**frankie fashionista:** i guess you want my fun fact

**nini:** actually

 **nini:** can i ask you a question instead?

**frankie fashionista:** no i won’t give you my name

**nini:** no 

**nini:** not that

 **nini:** you said love feels 

**nini:** like in present tense

 **nini:** are you in love with someone?

**frankie fashionista:** yes.

**nini:** what are they like?

**frankie fashionista:** so great it’s not fair

 **frankie fashionista:** so perfect it angers me that they thought they could just exist and not make me fall in love with them

**nini:** and would you really wish not to be in love with them?

**frankie fashionista:** …

 **frankie fashionista:** i guess not

**nini:** see?

 **nini:** love might hurt but for thousands of years everyone’s chosen love 

**nini:** you should ask them out. or at least invite them to hang out and do something fun!

**frankie fashionista:** hmmm. maybe i will

**nini:** :D i hope it works out

**frankie fashionista:** i hope it works out too

__

  
  


Nini’s just put on her favorite pair of pajama pants after texting Franklin Fashionista for a few hours, ready to call it a night. She still has a dumb smile on her face, happy and warm, when the doorbell rings. 

“Who’s coming over at this hour?” Kourtney calls from the couch, where she’s binge watching _Avatar: The Last Airbender_. “Are you going on a date?”

“Do I look like I’m going on a date?” Nini shoots back, opening the door and seeing— “Oh.”

“Hey.” Ricky stands there, a backpack in one hand and two tickets in the other. He eyes her PJs with amusement. “Bad time?”

“A little,” Nini admits sheepishly. “What’s up?”

“Big Red’s band is having a concert tonight,” Ricky says. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with, but, well….”

“It’s fine,” Nini says. “I can change.” Her previous exhaustion suddenly gone, something stirs in her chest at the thought of spending time with Ricky. 

She hates that she kinds of likes it.

Ricky waits outside while she puts on a respectable outfit, and if she spends an extra five minutes just looking at her reflection in the mirror, well, he doesn’t have to know that. At last, she re-emerges, ready to go.

Kourtney takes one look at her and grins. “Are you sure you’re not going on a date?” 

Wordlessly, Nini flips her off, closing the door on her roommate’s laughter and hoping her cheeks aren’t as bright red as they feel.

“What kind of music does Big Red’s band make, anyway?” she asks as they make their way to ground level.

“Some type of indie-pop,” Ricky answers. “Red says they get inspiration from Taylor Swift and Bastille.”

The show’s at an 18+ bar not far from Nini’s apartment, where a small crowd is forming by the time they arrive. Ricky flashes his tickets to the security guard, who nods and lets them in. They settle in a corner near the stage, and Ricky waves to Big Red, who’s just finished setting up his mic. 

“So,” Nini leans against the wall. “Are they any good?”

“You think I’d take you to a concert that I didn’t think was good?” Ricky elbows her teasingly. 

“I just don’t know if I can trust your taste in music,” Nini teases back. “And it’s your best friend’s set, after all.”

“Trust me,” Ricky says confidently. “They’re good.” 

“Tell me your favorite Taylor Swift song and I’ll judge if I can trust your taste.”

“You say that as if she has any bad songs.” 

Nini’s smiling. “That’s true,” she says. “But I’m still gonna judge you on your favorite.”

“Hmmm.” Ricky thinks about it. “I guess it would be a tie between Fearless and You Belong With Me? Can’t go wrong with her old stuff.”

“Okay, I guess you still have rights,” Nini begrudgingly admits, and Ricky grins.

“What’s yours?” he asks.

Nini’s about to reply when Big Red steps up to the mic, effectively cutting her off. “Hey everyone! Thanks for coming—we’ve got a great show for you tonight.”

Ricky is right; they are good. Throughout the set, Nini finds herself nodding along to the beat and appreciating Big Red’s breath control. She’s also hyper aware of Ricky right next to her, his shoulder occasionally brushing against hers. He’s singing the song lyrics at the top of his lungs, jumping around, and when he gets really excited he grabs her hand and spins her around, sending her far away and back against his body. 

In the middle of the show, Ricky bends down, his lips right beside her ear, and he asks her out of breath, “Do you want something to drink?” It takes all of her mental strength to answer with an iced tea and she’s tingling when he leaves to get her one.

When the set ends, Nini stands off to the side while Ricky goes up to talk to his best friend. A few minutes later, he returns, with band merch for the both of them, which she takes with a grateful smile. 

Nini looks out the window of the bar. By now, it’s dark, and the splatter of rain glistens on the pavement.

“Shit,” she says. “I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“It’s okay,” Ricky assures her. “I did. We can share.”

“Alright,” she shrugs, zipping up her jacket. “Let’s go.”

Stepping outside, Nini huddles under Ricky’s umbrella. She brushes against him slightly so they can both fit, but he doesn’t move away.

“So?” Nini can feel him looking at her intently. “Did you like it?” 

Nini pretends to think about it, managing to keep a straight face. She nods. “Yeah—I liked it a lot.”

“I knew you would.” Ricky sounds pleased, and Nini ducks her head to cover the grin that now spreads across her cheeks, refusing to give him the satisfaction. 

They make small talk as they walk back, and Nini’s surprised at how easily conversation comes to them. She laughs at his ridiculous jokes and listens to his rant about his awful math professor, ignoring the way her stomach does backflips whenever he looks at her.

“Hey,” Ricky says as they pass by a Whole Foods, “mind if we drop in for a minute?”

“Sure.” Nini follows him inside. “What do you need?”

Ricky leads them to the cooking aisle, staring at the shelf of olive oil and scrunching his nose up in concentration. He turns to her. 

“What do you think is the difference between these?” he asks, pointing to two bottles.

“Well, if you read the label,” Nini says solemnly, “Carapelli Olive Oil has a fatty acid content of about .8 percent, while Botticelli only has a fatty acid content of .7 percent.”

“Shut up,” Ricky rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I look like an olive oil expert to you?” Nini asks. “Just pick the one whose vibes you like the most.”

Ricky ignores her joke. “Should I get virgin or extra virgin?” he mutters under his breath, eyes glancing among the various brands in confusion. 

“Does it matter?” Nini’s distracted; she watches as he runs his hand through his windswept hair and absentmindedly bites down on his lower lip. Her breath hitches.

“No, I don’t think so,” Ricky finally responds, knocking her out of her reverie. “I’ll just get the virgin.”

“Good thing I knew the context of that,” Nini says, earning an elbow jab in response. 

While Ricky pays for his olive oil, she sees a dumb slogan with nuts on a produce, and she can’t help herself from snagging a picture to send to Franklin Fashionista later. She can already imagine his answer, something cheeky and stupid that will inevitably make her laugh and smile at her phone for hours, wondering when he started making her so happy. 

When they step back outside, the storm has worsened. Nini grimaces as the thin sole of her combat boot makes contact with a puddle; she just knows she’ll be spending the rest of the night drying her socks out. But being with Ricky makes it not so bad, and she’s practically forgotten all about it when they finally reach her apartment, breathless with laughter.

“Well,” Ricky says. “I’ll see you tomorrow at pitch, then?”

“Yeah,” Nini says. And before she can stop herself, against her better judgment, she leans in to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Cool.” Ricky looks pleased, and with a final wave, leaves her standing at her door.

It may have been an unusually cold night, but Nini has never felt warmer.

__

  
  


**frankie fashionista:** hi

**nini:** hi

 **nini:** it’s 1am on a friday night 

**nini:** why are you texting me

**frankie fashionista:** well what are You doing at this hour

**nini:** finishing an essay

**frankie fashionista:** nerd

**nini:** >:0

**frankie fashionista:** can’t believe you Attacked me for texting you on a friday night when you’re literally studying like a loser

**nini:** i did not Attack you

 **nini:** why are you bullying me :,(

**frankie fashionista:** well i’m a little bit drunk

 **frankie fashionista:** and i thought of you so

**nini:** aw

 **nini:** i live in your head rent free

**frankie fashionista:** no >:(

 **frankie fashionista:** you just momentarily strolled by

**nini:** sure

 **nini:** shouldn’t you be talking with your company instead of texting me

**frankie fashionista:** which company

**nini:** who’s a loser now

**frankie fashionista:** mean :(

**nini:** what did you want to talk about

**frankie fashionista:** just

 **frankie fashionista:** do you think i’m unloveable?

 **frankie fashionista:** be honest

**nini:** what? no

 **nini:** what made you think that

**frankie fashionista:** i don’t know 

**frankie fashionista:** life

**nini:** did…

 **nini:** did it not work out with the person you love?

**frankie fashionista:** i don’t know

 **frankie fashionista:** i don’t know anything

 **frankie fashionista:** but i just

 **frankie fashionista:** i think i’m gonna spend my life never being loved

**nini:** that’s not true

 **nini:** you’re a great guy

 **nini:** and you’re worthy of love

 **nini:** and you’ll find someone great for you, someone who loves you so goddamn much, and if it’s not the person that you love right now then they’re seriously missing out and that’s too bad for them

**frankie fashionista:** i wish i could believe you

**nini:** then do it

 **nini:** it’s that easy

**frankie fashionista:** i don’t think my mom liked me very much

**nini:** i’m so sorry

**frankie fashionista:** like, she did, but only because she was forced to, you know?

 **frankie fashionista:** i don’t think i can be loved if people aren’t forced to

**nini:** that’s not true!

 **nini:** i wish you would realize how great you are

 **nini:** i don’t even know who you are and you are one of my closest friends

 **nini:** and it’s because you’re such an amazing person

 **nini:** you’re so funny and genuine and smart 

**frankie fashionista:** do you really think so

**nini:** i know so! 

**nini:** i promise

 **nini:** you are one of my favorite people

 **nini:** and i’m sorry your mom is shitty. i’m sorry she didn’t make you feel loved like you should be. but she’s wrong, so so so wrong

 **nini:** you’ll find love

**frankie fashionista:** thank you

**nini:** is that why you do it

 **nini:** attention? 

**nini:** people raving about you?

**frankie fashionista:** kind of yeah

 **frankie fashionista:** and my mom

 **frankie fashionista:** i guess you figured out one of your great mysteries

**nini:** it’s not like it matters

**frankie fashionista:** only one left to go

 **frankie fashionista:** and then you can leave

**nini:** i’m not going to leave

**frankie fashionista:** why not

 **frankie fashionista:** you only talk to me because of your article

 **frankie fashionista:** after that, you have no reason to stay

**nini:** i’m not going to leave 

**nini:** i’m not here for the article

**frankie fashionista:** aren't you?

**nini:** no!

**frankie fashionista:** i think i just don’t believe you

**nini:** what can i do to make you believe me

**frankie fashionista:** goodnight nini

 **frankie fashionista:** don’t work too hard

__

  
  


Something changes.

What had previously been “strictly professional” work meetings turns into casual hangouts. Nini finds herself texting Ricky when she gets out of class, asking him if he wants to get a bite to eat; she invites him over to her apartment for study sessions; she drags him to Gina’s sorority’s parties. In turn, Ricky teaches her how to skateboard; he gets them tickets to a local art exhibit; he sends her Spotify playlists he thinks she’d like.

It’s a typical Tuesday night, and Ricky’s over at her place again. He’s dancing around the kitchen while waiting for the cookies in the oven to bake, unaware of Nini watching him with a smile on her face. He looks so carefree, so in his element, that Nini just wants to reach over and run her hands through his hair—no, she tells herself, she shouldn’t go there. 

But then she looks at her phone, which is opened to the latest text conversation between her and Franklin Fashionista, and she stills. That’s another thing she doesn’t want to think about—her growing feelings towards the mysterious prankster. Their conversations have been increasingly laced with an undercurrent of tension, but she can tell there’s a softer side to him, too. In fact, she’s pretty sure she knows more about him than she’d ever planned to—except, of course, his real name. She can’t help but think about his question: _do you think I’m unloveable_ and, more importantly, the words that came later: _after that, you have no reason to stay_. Maybe it is true. Maybe she has no excuse to text him every morning right as she wakes up, or to fall asleep replaying their conversations, or to think of him right after any random thoughts passes through her brain in the day, immediately messaging it to him a with a giggle knowing it would make him laugh, but she still wants to do all of those things. She doesn’t _want_ a reason to stay, because she doesn’t _need_ one.

When Ricky turns around, asks her if she’s okay, she feels like a robot as she nods. Internally, though, a battle is raging—and she’s not sure which side she wants to win.

—

  
  


**frankie fashionista:** alright i bought the moisturizer you told me to

**nini:** finally! 

**nini:** i can’t believe you spent this many years of your life without a skincare routine

**frankie fashionista:** well- :|

 **frankie fashionista:** it smells like grapefruit

**nini:** what do you have against grapefruits

**frankie fashionista:** nothing!

 **frankie fashionista:** it was a mere observation

**nini:** grapefruits are delicious

 **nini:** an underrated fruit

**frankie fashionista:** eh it’s too acidic and not sweet enough

**nini:** stop sending me grapefruit hate i don’t wanna hear it >:(

**frankie fashionista:** fine

 **frankie fashionista:** so do i take off the moisturizer or no

**nini:** …….

 **nini:** no

**frankie fashionista:** how long do i leave it then

**nini:** …………………..

**frankie fashionista:** NO I DIDN’T READ IT CORRECTLY

**nini:** i’m

**frankie fashionista:** IT WAS AN HONEST MISTAKE NINI

__

  
  


It’s a Friday night, and Nini’s snuggled into the crook of Ricky’s couch, wrapped in two layers of blankets like a warm burrito. It’s been a strange week, her mind jumping around between the two boys in her life, no rest in sight. She’s been thinking, thinking, thinking, about Ricky and prankster and the article, and she kind of just wants to stop. She asked Ricky if he was doing anything tonight, saying she needed the distraction, and he didn’t even ask about it when he invited her over.

When Ricky had found out she’d never seen any of the Jurassic Park movies, a horrified expression had crossed his face, and he’d insisted on remedying that right away. That’s how she finds herself in his apartment, waiting for him to finish preparing the snacks. The smell of butter wafts from the kitchen to the living room, and she inhales deeply in satisfaction. 

“Maybe you should buy packaged popcorn instead of making it yourself every time you want a snack,” Nini calls at him from her nest, her eyes reading over the Jurassic Park DVD summary.

She can hear Ricky rummaging around the kitchen, more sounds of metal hitting each other than there surely should have been, but she’s learned to let him fight it out himself instead of trying to help long ago. “Why would I when homemade popcorn tastes so much better?”

“It’s easier,” Nini shrugs, flipping the DVD around to stare at the cover image, that of a T-rex looking right at the camera, roaring fiercely.

“Easy is boring.”

“Very deep.”

“Watcha looking at, princess?” Ricky’s teasing voice sounds from above her as he holds the bowl of freshly made popcorn over her head. Nini gets a childish, excited smile at the sight, venturing an arm out of her blanket burrito to reach for some. Ricky shakes his head teasingly, taking the bowl even further away from her grasp. “Not until you admit homemade popcorn is better.”

“Homemade popcorn is better,” Nini repeats, still flailing her arm around to try and get some.

“And you’re wrong and I’m right.”

Nini’s arm drops down, hiding herself deeper under the comfort of her blankets, tucking herself in tighter. “I think we can both be right.” She gives him a snooty look.

He rolls his eyes, dangling a piece of popcorn just below her nose. “Are you sure about that?” He singsongs.

“Fine. You’re right and I’m wrong. Happy?” 

Ricky jumps over the back of his couch and drops beside her, a few pieces of popcorn flying around them, and he gives her a grin. “See? It wasn’t that hard.”

“No. It quite literally killed me.”

She tries to extract her arm from her burrito blanket to finally get her rightfully deserved popcorn, but it’s an intricate task, and she struggles to not destroy her nest. “Here.” Ricky holds a piece right to her mouth, and Nini stills, her lips just barely grazing the tip of his finger as she takes it from him. She crunches down harder than necessary, her face on fire. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ricky says casually, just as Nini manages to free her arms. She grabs a handful of popcorn to distract herself and clears her throat. “So, are we starting?”

“Yep,” he replies, popping the p for emphasis. He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you haven’t seen the masterpiece that is the first Jurassic Park.”

“My moms wouldn’t let me when I was younger,” Nini shrugs. “And then after that, I just never got around to it.”

“Like I said,” Ricky shakes his head again, “we’re fixing that now.” Settling in with his own layer of blankets, he presses play.

The movie starts, but Nini finds herself paying more attention to the boy sitting next to her. From the giant grin that spreads across his face when the Jurassic Park theme first plays, to his in-depth explanation of the CGI required to animate the dinos, to his melodious laugh at the unexpected bits of comedy, Nini catches all the little moments that further endear Ricky to her. It’s less about the film itself and more about getting to know why exactly he loves it so much.

“Did you know that we have no idea what color dinosaurs actually are? Like, some scientists in the 50s just decided that they would be green and red,” Nini says in the middle of the movie, when the T-rex snatches one of the characters from the toilet and chomps him clean in half. Ricky doesn’t even bother to shush her, imagining the crazy colors and patterns different dinosaurs could have been with her until a new action scene starts and he’s once again captivated by the movie.

“So?” Ricky says, when the end credits roll. He looks at her expectantly. “What did you think?”

“It was good,” Nini says, even though she honestly can’t recall much of the film. And yeah, the half-truth is definitely worth it when Ricky grins at her, shining like the sun. She tries to smile back, only to yawn in response. Immediately, his expression shifts to one of concern.

“Shit,” he mutters glancing at the clock. “It’s late.”

“I can just take the bus,” Nini insists, only to be interrupted by another yawn. Ricky frowns.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” he asks. “You can take the bed, and I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t want to intrude-” Nini starts, and this time, is hit with an unexpected wave of exhaustion. She sighs in defeat. “Fine, I’ll stay. But I’m sleeping on the couch, not you.”

Ricky tries to argue with her about it, but she won’t budge. Finally, he compromises by dragging out a set of sleeping bags, and she feels like she’s fourteen all over again. He gives her his oversized red and green hoodie (still stained by the blue paint Nini had warned him about) and she slips it on, amazed at how comfortable it feels. When she uses his bathroom to brush her teeth, she sees a moisturizer she had recommended to Franklin Fashionista a few weeks back, and vaguely registers the coincidence.

Finally, they settle down in their respective sleeping bags, and Nini’s on the verge of falling asleep when Ricky’s voice breaks the silence. “You never actually told me your favorite Taylor Swift song, you know.”

“What?” Nini’s brain is too fuzzy to make the connection. 

“Your favorite Taylor Swift song,” Ricky repeats. “That night, at the bar? Just before the show started, you were about to tell me.”

“Oh.” As the memories of the night fall into place, the answer comes easily to her lips. “Death by a Thousand Cuts.”

“Hmm,” is all Ricky says, and Nini is too tired to make sense of it. “Well, good night, Nini.”

The exchange is all but forgotten when they wake up the next morning, sunlight already streaming through the windows. They make crepes for breakfast and debate the ranking of crepes, waffles and pancakes, Nini calling him a snob when he insists crepes are the first choice. She gasps guiltily when she accidentally spills some of the Nutella onto the corner of Ricky’s hoodie. But he merely laughs and waves it away, claiming it’ll easily come out in the wash. They spend the next hour dancing around the kitchen to Ricky’s upbeat playlist, and Nini thinks they could stay like this forever.

But alas, all good things must come to an end—Ricky has a meeting later that afternoon that can’t be rescheduled, and he’s already running late. He hands her a set of keys to let herself out with, and then rushes off in a flurry.

**frankie fashionista:** good morning

 **frankie fashionista:** did you know rats have no gag reflex

Nini snorts at the texts, her head shaking with an undeniable smile, already thinking up of cheeky answers as she tucks her phone back in her back pocket.

When she finally leaves, five minutes later, she’s got a new red and green hoodie to add to her closet.

__

  
  


**frankie fashionista:** i’m sorry but the moon landing is clearly fake

**nini:** frankie…..

**frankie fashionista:** you’re gonna look at me and you’re gonna tell me that i’m wrong?

**nini:** yes.

 **nini:** that was the plan

**frankie fashionista:** look, i’m not saying we NEVER went to the moon

 **frankie fashionista:** i’m just saying we didn’t do it for the first time then

**nini:** i cannot believe you are a real person

 **nini:** surely you must be a social experiment

**frankie fashionista:** what would be the experiment?

 **frankie fashionista:** annoying you?

**nini:** to see how long i would endure this

**frankie fashionista:** oh

**nini:** which is a very long time! perhaps forever!

 **nini:** no way i’m letting the government win Anything

**frankie fashionista:** whatever you say

**nini:** did you know the quote was actually “one small step for A man”?

**frankie fashionista:** i refuse to quote a Liar anyway

**nini:** speaking of the moon

**frankie fashionista:** where are you going with this

**nini:** controversial opinion: new moon is actually the best twilight movie

**frankie fashionista:** ……….i actually have never watched twilight

**nini:** you’ve never..

 **nini:** i-

 **nini:** BYE

**frankie fashionista:** wait

 **frankie fashionista:** i just 

**nini:** i’m not speaking with an uncultured swine any longer

**frankie fashionista:** i just never got around to it and

**nini:** i can’t believe you’ve deceived me

 **nini:** all this time you had never watched twilight and you didn’t even tell me

**frankie fashionista:** THE OPPORTUNITY JUST NEVER CAME UP

**nini:** i said BYE

__

  
  


If Nini had seen it coming, she would’ve just kept her mouth shut.

But moments before it all goes wrong, they’re at her place, eating ice cream straight from the tub. They sit across from each other at the table, underneath the dimming light: She’s procrastinating working on an essay for her Gender Studies class, while Ricky flips through his textbook. It’s quiet, save for the background hum of the fridge, and she likes it.

Nini’s just begun the conclusion paragraph when Ricky looks up, breaking the silence. “Hey,” he says. “How come we stopped working on our piece about the Fashionista?”

“Hmm,” Nini says, only half paying attention as she squints at her laptop screen. “We did?”

“Yeah.” As she places the finishing touches on her paper, Ricky’s words finally sink in; the weird feeling she gets whenever the prankster is mentioned returns in full force. She thinks of all the notes she’d meticulously collected when they first started, and how she hasn’t touched them—or even thought about them—in weeks. She thinks of the way she’d planned out the investigation from the very beginning, only to end up replacing work meetings with karaoke and cooking sessions.

But most of all, she thinks about the prankster; how her original fiery determination had sputtered out, tamed by the mysterious, nameless boy who makes her laugh and question what she knows about love. 

Ricky’s still waiting for an answer, and Nini avoids his eye, fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater. “We’ve been busy.”

Ricky’s eyes narrow. “Do you…..not want to do it anymore?”

“I—maybe?” Nini’s shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug. “I just stopped caring about finding out who he is, I guess.” It’s not the full truth, and they both know it. But the real reason is too embarrassing to admit to Ricky, of all people. She can picture it now: the way he’d roll his eyes, claim she was being ridiculous and ask her how she could possibly have feelings for someone she doesn’t even know? Plus, she really doesn’t want to ruin whatever they have going on.

“You don’t care anymore.” Ricky’s voice is dry with doubt. “The most hardworking writer on staff—Nini ‘never backs down from a story, even when she should’ Salazar-Roberts? Not caring about an article? Yeah, I don’t believe it for a second.”

“Woah,” Nini bristles at the harshness that laces his words. “No, hang on, I—”

“So, what happened?” Ricky interrupts her, his voice rising. “Was I that terrible of a partner that you just couldn’t wait to quit? Was I such a drag that not even the thrill of puzzling out your detective board could make spending time with me worth it? If you don’t like working with me, you can just say it—you don’t need to come up with a dumb excuse.”

“An excuse?” Nini furrows her brows in confusion. She doesn’t even have the time to wrap her head around the absurdity of Ricky’s reasoning before he speaks again.

“An excuse!” Ricky’s anger is unwavering. “Isn’t that what you always do? Use professionalism as an excuse for why you never let go and have fun? Use articles as the pats on the head you so desperately crave? God, you can’t handle not being perfect. I bet that’s why you gave up on the article. You were just so afraid of failing at something that you didn’t even bother trying.”

“I’m not trying? _I’m_ not trying? Says the one who’s never put any effort into anything he does.” Suddenly, Nini’s furious, standing up and kicking her chair backwards. It scrapes harshly against the tile, and before she knows it, she’s launched into a full-on tirade. “Even now, I’m the person scheduling interviews, studying the costumes, looking at the calendar, and even texting the prankster—which, by the way, you could’ve done too, since you’re the one who gave me his number in the first place. But you didn’t, because you think it’s cute to ‘let go’ and ‘have fun’ and let everyone around you do the work just so you can come and collect the credit later.”

“Yeah?” Ricky’s eyes flash with rage. “Well, I’m sorry I’m such a burden, then. I’ll make sure to get out of your way.” 

“Wait—” Nini wants to take it back, to tell him that she didn’t mean it, but before she can even say another word, he’s out the door, gone.

__

  
  


**SUNDAY**

**nini:** my favorite flower is hawthorns 

**nini:** tiny white flowers is where it’s @

 **nini:** anyway are you free to rant? 

**nini:** i have so much on my mind..

**MONDAY**

**nini:** i love the word hibiscus 

**nini:** hey?

 **nini:** are you okay?

**WEDNESDAY**

**nini:** what’s going on?

 **nini:** i really need to vent to someone 

**nini:** there’s just so much happening and i can’t take it

 **nini:** i just

 **nini:** please answer me

 **nini:** oh and i hope you’re okay

**FRIDAY**

**nini:** hi

 **nini:** harley quinn 

**nini:** funny costume

 **nini:** i guess you’re okay

 **nini:** just please talk to me

**SUNDAY**

**nini:** i don’t understand

 **nini:** i’m sorry if i upset you

 **nini:** just tell me what i did and i can apologize

**FRIDAY**

**nini:** i miss you

__

  
  


“So yeah, now neither of them are talking to me.”

Kourtney looks on sympathetically as Nini stares dejectedly at the cup of coffee in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t even know what I did to offend the prankster!” Nini throws her hands up in the air. “It’s one thing for Ricky to stop talking to me, but the Fashionista too?”

“It sounds like you need to figure out your feelings for both of them,” Kourtney says wisely. “And maybe give them some time—it’s only been two weeks.”

So Nini listens to her best friend’s advice, even though it feels like an eternity. She resists the urge to text Ricky, ask him to meet up for their usual coffee session after class, and ends up sitting in the cafe alone. But, it turns out, making up silly backstories for the other shopgoers just isn’t any fun without him.

Later, she goes to his apartment to finally return his red and green hoodie she’d stolen during their movie night. Ricky had never asked for it back—maybe he’d never even noticed it was gone—but it feels wrong to have it when they’re not on speaking terms. The Nutella stain from earlier has mostly faded to a light brown after being put through the wash, though it’s still visible under the light. Combined with the blue paint stain, the jacket is a strange mashup of colors. 

She stands in front of the door, hand poised over the doorbell; she’s sure she must look like a fool to anyone with a view of the hallway, internally battling herself before chickening out and deciding to just put the hoodie on the welcome mat.

Finally, she leaves, just barely missing the intro instrumentals of “Death by a Thousand Cuts” that sound from Ricky’s apartment.

__

  
  


**nini:** you know what? it’s shitty that you’re not talking to me _(deleted)_

 **nini:** i hate it. i hate it so much. _(deleted)_

 **nini:** it’s not fair _(deleted)_

 **nini:** why won’t you just talk to me _(deleted)_

 **nini:** all this time you were the one afraid that i was going to leave so what? _(deleted)_

 **nini:** you decided to do it first? _(deleted)_

 **nini:** why didn’t you stay _(deleted)_

__

  
  


In the middle of an hour-long lecture on Greeks and Romans, Nini has never felt more exhausted.

Hunched in her seat, she’s on the verge of falling asleep when the vibration of her phone startles her awake. Sheepishly, she drags her head up from the desk and discreetly peeks at the screen—it’s a new message from Kourtney.

**kourt:** did you see the new outfit? i think you’ll like it. 

Her first reaction is a vague sense of surprise; in the midst of everything, she’d forgotten that the outfits were changing. Then, it’s followed by a pang of hurt—she must’ve done something really bad if the Fashionista was still going out there, but no longer answering her texts. Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, she makes a note to check it out after class, and forces herself to pay attention for the remaining half hour.

The courtyard is quieter than usual when Nini makes her way to the statue; it’s as if the rest of campus can sense her gloomy mood and decided to stay away. When she finally looks up at the fit, though, a smile instinctively curls around her face. Kourtney had been right—she does like it. Benjamin Franklin stares back at her as the protagonist of a multidimensional Spider-man movie; the prankster had even managed to fit a mask over the statue’s chubby face. 

But for some reason, Nini is drawn to the red and green jacket that’s slipped over Miles Morales’ suit. She’s sure she’s seen it somewhere before, and not just from _Into the Spider-verse_. Looking closely at it, she thinks. What would Ricky say? Surely she must’ve learned something from his expertise in costuming.

After a few minutes, Nini sighs. No—she’s not the one who should be doing this. Trying to fill Ricky’s role feels wrong, and only reminds her even more of their fight. She twists on her feet, preparing to leave, when something stops her. Slowly, she turns back around.

The remaining rays of the late afternoon peek through the clouds, and illuminate the colorful jacket. For a moment, she thinks it’s a trick of the light. But there it is: a faint brown stain near the bottom, contrasted against the red that lines the zipper area. And right above it, a small blue paint spatter that still hasn’t fully gone away. Suddenly, she knows exactly where she’s seen it before.

And it clicks.

Nini can only stand in shock as the pieces fall into place: Ricky somehow being the only one who had Franklin Fashionista’s number. Him making fun of the theories he already knew were bogus. His perfect knowledge of the statue’s outfits. Benjamin Franklin dressed up as Shrek only a day after their outing at the costume store. The grapefruit-scented moisturizer sitting in Ricky’s bathroom. Neither the prankster nor Ricky talking to her. Hell, even the shitty, neglectful mom lines up.

She pulls out her phone to look through her conversations with the Fashionista again, this time with a new perspective, when she stops at a handful of texts from two months ago. _are you in love with someone?_ she’d asked—just a simple, innocuous question at the time. But her eyes hone in on his answer: _yes_.

Nini almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation: this whole time, the two boys she had fallen for were one and the same. Ricky Bowen was the Franklin Fashionista—smart, silly, ridiculous, Ricky Bowen.

Her heart warms just thinking about him. 

As the seeds of an idea begin to plant in her mind, Nini all but races back to her apartment. She knows exactly what she has to do—and there’s no time to waste.

__

  
  


Even though she tries to go to bed early, Nini hardly gets any sleep that night.

Finally, though, finally at 3 AM, on the day she and the Fashionista had originally planned to end the bet, she gets out of bed, throwing off the covers with a renewed determination. Quietly gathering the clothes she needs and the biggest, shiniest flashlight she has, she hesitates for only a moment before heading out the door.

The courtyard is completely empty when she arrives—just as she’d planned. Setting the flashlight to the ground, Nini gets to work. Dressing the statue is harder than it looks—honestly, she has to give credit to Ricky for being able to do it several times a month— and she’s sweating slightly by the time she finishes. But as she looks at Benjamin Franklin, dressed up in a grey army vest, jeans and low-rise Converses, with a brown wig to top it off, she can’t help but smile.

Just then, Nini hears the sounds of footsteps, knowing exactly who’s trying to sneakily get to the statue. She feels a flutter of excitement rush up in her—she hasn’t seen him in weeks and she’s already shaking at the idea of talking to him. When she feels the flashlight light fall on her, she spins around in a very villainous reveal fashion, coming face to face with Ricky’s known and familiar face and hearing a soft gasp come from his lips. She opens her mouth, then realizes she has nothing planned to say. 

“Bella Swan was a pioneer for self-insert characters and it’s appalling that you’ve never seen the movies.” She finally gets out after a few moments of silence, her lips moving faster than her brain. She only realizes what she’s said when his eyes widen, his lips parted in shock. 

Otherwise, Ricky stays silent, his eyes moving from her to the statue, as if trying to tie it all together. She’s sure there are better ways to explain, to make sense of all this to him, but her brain is lagging and she just wants to hold him and she can’t think straight.

Nini doesn’t have anything planned, but she’s had words turning in her mind like a loop for days now, so she opens her mouth and says, “I love you.” 

Ricky takes a breath, surprised, but still doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “I love you and I’m sorry and I know you’re Franklin Fashionista.” 

Ricky takes a moment, swallows, then says, “You could throw a rock on every YA main character and you’d hit a dozen other awkward brunettes that bite their lips.” 

Nini’s frustrated. “Is that all you have to say?” She asks. “Because I just told you I loved you, and normally I’d be more than happy to argue with you the genius of the Twilight saga, but this is kind of a big deal so I expected a bit more-” She doesn’t have time to finish her word vomit before Ricky crashes his lips against hers.

Nini doesn’t even have to think before opening her mouth and throwing her arms around his neck, tugging him to her. It feels right, like she was meant to be here, in front of this badly dressed statue, kissing Ricky Bowen like her life depended on it. It’s messy and fast and she barely has time to register the taste of his lips or the feel of his hands on her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her skin slowly, before a new information is thrown her way, like the feel of his hair between her fingers and the warmth of his body pressed against hers or how much she has to tilt her head to get to him. It’s all just right.

Nini doesn’t ever want to stop. She wants to live in this moment forever, to bask in the glory of Ricky Bowen’s kisses, but too soon for her taste he’s pulling away. She takes some time to compose herself, to clear her screaming mind, and open her eyes again. He’s already gazing at her, something so soft and tender, with such a happy smile, that she can’t help but become goo.

“I was going to do Alan Grant,” he states with a humorous smile, pulling out a cowboy hat and a red handkerchief from his bag. Nini lets out a teary eyed chuckle. “I guess you beat me to it.”

“I’m just that good.”

“You beat me to the love declaration, too,” he teases and she feels her insides do a somersault. “I love you,” Ricky says and it sounds like a relief. “I love you so much. I love that you’re smart and passionate, I love that you never back down from anything, I love that you’re stubborn, I love that you dedicate yourself in everything that you do, I love that you’re funny, I love that you’re beautiful, inside and out, I love that you’re an amazing friend, I love everything I know about you and I could go on for hours but I’m going to shut up now.” 

“I can’t believe I had days to practice my ‘I love you’ speech and you just beat me like that on the spot.”

“To be fair, I’ve been practicing my speech for months now.” He bends down again and presses another kiss on her lips, quick and chaste this time, and he’s gone in seconds. “I think you have some explaining to do, now.”

“Oh, right.” Nini says. “I recognized the Miles Morales hoodie and after that everything just… clicked.” 

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad? If anything, I’m impressed that you’ve managed to fool me for months.” 

“I think it says more about you than me,” he teases, and she lets out an ‘hey’ as she hits his shoulder. Then, he asks more seriously, “Do you really love me?” 

“Yes,” she grins. “And I’m sorry about everything I said. I hope you know they’re not true in the slightest bit. You’re not lazy or a burden or whatever other shitty thing your mom says.” He looks down in slight discomfort, like she was hitting too close to home. 

“I’m sorry too,” he replies. “For snapping at you and ignoring you.” 

“It’s fine.” She waves it away. “Plus, I would never have won the bet if you hadn’t.”

“What bet? I don’t recall a bet?”

“Nuh-huh, Frankie, I’m collecting my prize.”

“Isn’t my love enough?”

“Is it normal that these 100 year old boomers keep doing high school when they could very easily work or go to college?” Nini asks. “No is the answer, by the way, but you wouldn’t understand this subtle Twilight reference because you’ve never watched it.” 

“You can’t make me watch it if you can’t catch me.” With that, he spins around and runs, Nini chasing after him. 

She’s never been happier.

_—_

_@TheUtahChronicle: Franklin Fashionista finally revealed! Third year Ricky Bowen forced to stand outside for a full day dressed as Bella Swan from the Twilight quadrilogy. Check out the exclusive one on one from Chronicle columnist (and girlfriend!) Nini Salazar-Roberts below ❤️ #truelove_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> -if anyone was curious, the prompt this fic was based on is "there’s a statue of our school’s founder in the quad on campus and as a joke, I’ve been dressing them up in sweaters and dresses and you’re the journalist determined to find this prankster"


End file.
